


Nursing An Empty Bottle And Telling Myself You're Happier

by byrd_the_amazin



Series: How To Crash A Wedding [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Confessions, Gen, It's not really a happy fic, Pining, i just wanted to write abt race n elmo pining, sorry bout that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 20:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17967242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byrd_the_amazin/pseuds/byrd_the_amazin
Summary: "Elmer hesitated to say going out and drinking his problems away with Race was a regular thing, but that’s what it had become. It was therapeutic, whining to someone about his problems, since ordinarily, Elmer would have gone to his best friend.Which was clearly not an option in this scenario."





	Nursing An Empty Bottle And Telling Myself You're Happier

**Author's Note:**

> what's poppin you fresh hunks
> 
> i know i promised you a sprace part 2 to the first monster of a fic I KNOW! I PROMISED! IT'S COMING 
> 
> this is... i don't know what this is
> 
> it's not even a continuation it's just a deleted scene that didn't make it into the final draft of how to crash a wedding
> 
> strictly speaking, you should probably read htcaw first 
> 
> or don't
> 
> idk i'm not ur mom
> 
> but if you read this as a standalone then it is one sad Ass standalone 
> 
> it's not super happy 
> 
> i'm not in a super happy mood rn so i suppose that fits
> 
> anyways! here goes nothing, babes

Elmer figured out pretty quickly that as shitty as his situation was, at least he wasn’t suffering alone. A few nights after the _Save the Date_ s had gone out, Race had shown up at Elmer’s door, bleary-eyed and sniffing hard, and asked if Elmer wanted to go out. Elmer hadn’t been dumb enough to ask where they were going; as long as he’d known Anthony, he’d solved his problems in bars, hiding behind a drink as strong as he could tolerate.

It was common knowledge, at least among their friends, that Race had liked Spot for quite some time now, and the engagement announcement had hit him hard, too.

“What a pair we make,” Race had laughed that night, slurring his words slightly after Lord only knew how many drinks. “What a sad fucking pair we are, Elmo.”

They’d been going out every week or so since then, and Elmer hesitated to say going out and drinking his problems away with Race was a _regular thing,_ but that’s what it had become. It was therapeutic, whining to someone about his problems, since ordinarily, Elmer would have gone to his best friend. Which was clearly not an option in this scenario.

The main difference between Race and Elmer was that Race had actually thought he had a shot with Spot. He’d been reading too much into everything Spot said or did around him, sure that it was flirting, and instead, it had come back to kick his ass.

Elmer didn’t kid himself. He never had. There was no chance in hell Albert would ever love him.

The week before the wedding, two days before the bachelor party, Elmer and Race had their most depressing get-together yet. Rather than going out to a bar, Race had invited Elmer over to his place, and they got drunk on his couch instead.

“I’m his best man,” Race stage-whispered. He followed this dramatic pronouncement with another sip of his drink and then hysterical laughter that made Elmer lean forward in concern, because even through his drunken haze, he was fairly sure… He was _fairly_ sure that the situation did not warrant laughter. He couldn’t remember why Race was sad. Maybe he wasn’t sad. Maybe this was a happy gathering.

“I’m his _fucking_ best man,” Race muttered into his beer bottle, and _oh,_ now Elmer remembered. Spot was a dick. Spot was a dick, and he’d hurt Race. “He asked _fucking_ me to be his _fucking_ best man and I’m going to _fucking_ kill him.”

With each “ _fucking_ ,” he jabbed his finger at Elmer’s chest.

“How can I stand up there…” He trailed off, staring at nothing and apparently losing his train of thought. “I want to kiss him. I want to fucking… _kiss his lips._ ”

Elmer wrinkled his nose, because he didn’t want to kiss Spot. Kissing Spot would be _gross._ He could kiss… Albert.

 _Fuck,_ he wanted to kiss Albert. Why wasn’t he kissing Albert right now?

He started to get up off the couch, but Race put out an arm and brought him back. “Because he’s getting _married,_ shitbrain.”

It occurred to Elmer that he’d voiced that entire inner monologue out loud, and he settled back onto the couch with a long, weary sigh, because he’d forgotten Albert was engaged. He didn’t _want_ Albert to be engaged.

“Why does he have to be _engaged?_ ” he demanded, and Race let out a humorless laugh.

“Because we never win, Elmo. Ever. We’re a bunch of….” He cocked his head, apparently looking for the right words. “We’re a bunch of _sad_ people. Sad _losers,_ who are going to _die alone_ because we’re _losers._ ”

“And sad,” Elmer chimed in.

“And sad,” Race agreed. “We’re so… _sad._ ”

“Bachelor party’s in a few days,” Elmer said.

“Fucking _shit,_ ” Race swore. “Fucking. Shit. Fuck.”

“Albert’s my soulmate,” Elmer said, quieter this time, and for a second, Race just stared at him, intoxicated brain trying to make sense of his words.

Finally, he opened his mouth, and Elmer prepared himself for the Wisdom From The Mouth Of An Inebriated Racetrack Higgins.

Instead, Race muttered, “Shit, man. You’re fucked.”

He then immediately passed out where he was sitting, bottle clattering to the ground, thankfully empty. Elmer set his own bottle down carefully and laid back against the cushions. He vaguely wondered where Race’s roommate was, wondered why he hadn’t come out here to question what they were doing or lecture them for being too loud or maybe even join them in their pity party on the couch.

Then he remembered that Race didn’t _have_ a roommate. Not since Albert had moved in with Spot.

“Race,” he whispered, but his friend was out cold.

An excellent idea, he thought, closing his eyes, and eventually he, too, fell asleep.

~

He woke up to Race poking his leg. “Get up.”

Elmer tried to sit up and immediately felt like he was going to throw up, as the couch seemed to pitch to the side and the walls began swirling around him. “Jesus _fuck,_ man.”

“There’s water and an ibuprofen on the coffee table,” Race said. He sounded remarkably collected and put-together, but then again, Race never seemed to suffer from hangovers. Usually, Elmer thought it was pretty cool, but right now, he hated Race with every fiber of his being.

“I have work,” Race continued, which explained why he was wearing his uniform. Elmer was still wearing his jeans from last night, and he had several regrets. “You can stay here as long as you need. Don’t wreck the place.”

“Jesus,” Elmer swore again, throwing an arm over his face as colors danced in front of his eyes. The light was far too bright, and Race was acting far too normal, and Elmer wanted to curl up and _die._

“Yeah,” Race agreed, nodding at Elmer’s muttered cursing. “You drank a _shit_ ton last night. I’m amazed I managed to get you up.”

“Time’s it?” Elmer murmured.

“Almost one in the afternoon. I texted Finch, told him you were with me, and Albert-” Race’s expression clouded. “He wanted to know where you were, too.”

“He did?” Elmer asked. Ordinarily, he’d be thrilled, but he was still trying to reconcile the fact that his head felt like it was being detached from his body. He hadn’t had a hangover this bad since freshman year of college, at _least._

“Yeah,” Race grumbled. “Wouldn’t stop fucking bugging me, so I finally gave in and told him you were sleeping on my couch.”

“Did you also mention that _you_ were sleeping on the couch?” Elmer pointed out, uncovering his eyes from underneath his arm just in time to see Race flip him off.

“Shut up, El. Some of us are still pretending we have our lives together.”

Elmer just stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Anthony Higgins, you haven’t _ever_ had your life together.”

“I said I was _pretending,_ Elmo. _Christ._ ” Race sounded offended, but Elmer knew he didn’t mean it. “Shit, man, see if I ever help _you_ through a hangover again.”

“To be fair,” Elmer grumbled, “this isn’t exactly _helping me._ You kind of just… supplied me with medicine and told me I could crash at your place until I come back to life.”

“That sounds like _helping you_ to me,” Race snorted, rising from the couch. “I’ve got to scoot, or the Weasel will fire me. Again. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” Elmer agreed, closing his eyes and fighting down a sudden wave of nausea. “Turn out the light when you go.”

Race snickered. “That’s the sun, dipshit.”

“Then turn the fucking sun off, goddammit,” Elmer snapped, rubbing his eyes, and he heard Race laughing to himself all the way to the front door.

It took Elmer several minutes after Race left to even begin _considering_ sitting up again, and then several more minutes to actually execute the action. By the time he could comfortably sit up without craving immediate death due to the pounding in his head, the events of the previous night were starting to come back to him. He couldn’t remember much, and what he could recall was all in a blurry haze, but he was… _almost positive_ that at some point, he’d confessed to Race about his situation.

His soulmate situation.

His _one-sided_ soulmate situation.

“Fucking shit,” he muttered, because if he remembered the conversation, it almost guaranteed that Race remembered it, too. He hadn’t meant to tell Race (hell, he hadn’t told _anyone_ that Albert was his soulmate), but alcohol had a funny habit of loosening his tongue.

All of a sudden, his phone, which had somehow found its way onto the coffee table, buzzed loudly. Elmer jumped a solid foot in the air before retrieving it and checking the screen, finding three missed calls and over twenty texts, all no doubt asking about his whereabouts. Finch, Crutchie, and Albert had all asked after him, with a bonus text from Spot that said nothing except **can you please tell albert you’re fine he’s stressing me out.**

The most recent text was from less than a minute ago: Albert, asking if he wanted to go get lunch together.

Elmer massaged his temples, trying to decide whether he felt up to going out today.

The answer, of course, should have been _no._ Elmer had gotten _massively_ drunk last night and had slept for nearly twelve hours, and he was in no state to go out in public. He wanted to stay in for the rest of the day, figure out what work he still had to get done before his shift at the bookstore tonight, and regroup his thoughts before interacting with anyone else.

Still… it was _Albert._ And Elmer had never been able to say no to his best friend before. Today was hardly any different.

His fingers moved across the screen, almost on their own, typing out a response to Albert.

**[me] I’d love to**

The little typing bubble popped up almost immediately, and Elmer had to fight back a smile, because it meant Albert had been _waiting_ for a reply from him.

_Get yourself together, you sentimental piece of shit._

Heaving a sigh, he shakily got to his feet and attempted to locate his shoes. He still felt like shit, but he’d suffer for Albert. He’d do nearly anything for Albert.

Now he just had to figure out how he was going to survive this wedding, for Albert’s sake. Without revealing anything potentially incriminating or confessing his undying love for his best friend of ten years.

God, he was in deep.

**Author's Note:**

> title from happier by my main squeeze ed sheeran 
> 
> i've been in such a funk lately and all i wanna do is write sad shit 
> 
> so get ready for THAT roller coaster ho boy
> 
> also yes i am Aware that i don't know jack shit about drinking or hangovers the idea of alcohol is enough to make me want to Die so y'all are just gonna have to deal with the inconsistencies
> 
> also this is prolly the last fic i'll write for a while ft. drunk characters just due to Personal Reasons (As Stated Above)
> 
> i think this is the first fic i've ever titled after a song
> 
> golf claps
> 
> come yell at me not to write anything else sad: @muckcty-mucks on tumblr 
> 
> love y'all 
> 
> -b


End file.
